Anya considered her own regrets. She had very few. There were some Wishes she wouldn’t grant twice—mostly the ones where she had created dimensions that were entirely too niche. Like the world without paper clips. Or the worlds created to save one TV show from cancellation. She also wasn’t fond of any reality where animals could talk. Too noisy. If something could talk to you, it shouldn’t also feel entitled to poop in the street.

But otherwise, Anya felt free. Today she had thwarted the end of her reality and saved her one chance at a full human life. Well, a half-human, half-demon life. Looking around the Bronze, she felt a similar warmth to the one Angelus’s whiskey had given her. This was her community. Beside her: her friends. With all this solidarity, she almost understood why the slayer had lost her mind when she was disconnected from her own world. It was so much to live for. So much more than Anya had ever expected when she’d put in for her sabbatical.

She set down her beer and faced Angelus. “I know your mother- lover died earlier today.”

His brows drew together. “Sire. Darla was my sire.”

“Whatever. I’m not good with jargon.” She folded her hands in her lap, willing her fingers to stop twiddling. “But would you want to make some new regrets? With me?” Afraid she was talking too fast, she clarified: “I’m talking about a date. Or sex. Or both. I’m told they can go together.”

He chuckled, setting his pint on the bar. “I’d like that. Aud.”

“I’d like that, too. Liam.”

Silence built up between the two of them until they both shuddered and recoiled.

“Ugh, no,” Anya said, unsettled.

“No way,” Angelus agreed.

“Human names are not sexy.” She stuck out her tongue and scraped off the residue of her mistake with her fingertips. “Let’s stick with ‘Anya’ and ‘Angelus.’”

The vampire bobbed his head in agreement. “Definitely.”

Once Anya had regained her composure, she found Angelus watching her intently. She worried that he was going to change his mind. Now that he knew about the Aud human behind the demon Anyanka, maybe it was all he’d ever see.

One of his hands skimmed the side of her neck, coming to rest beneath her ear. Her breath caught. Heat rushed up her neck and cheeks.

“No biting,” she reminded him.

His mouth curled into a smile against hers.

Epilogue

SWEEPING THE LIGHTER flame back and forth, Jonathan sanitized the sharp point of his Richard Wilkins campaign pin before he pricked his index finger. Hissing at the pain, he squeezed two drops of blood into the feeding cup.